wesleynotponcy | Room 504, Laaaaaate Wednesday Night

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Room 504, Laaaaaate Wednesday Night

Wesley couldn't quite clamp down on the small pained noises that rose instinctively in his throat as he made his way agonizingly slowly up the last set of stairs to the fifth floor. It just figured, didn't it, that his room would be on the top floor when he was in this condition. Well. At least it wasn't too far from the stairwell to his room.

He limped the few steps to his door and unlocked it. He knew that he would have to do inventory of the injuries later, but right now he was focused rather single-mindedly on making sure Katniss had enough food and then collapsing in bed. He rather hoped he'd find her sleeping -- he didn't much fancy the idea of her seeing him like this. It would just be another piece of evidence that he wasn't equipped to take care of someone.

[[For the mockingjay. Up early for probable eventual SP.]]

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She nodded lightly, smiling softly. "I'm more all right than I've been," she promised quietly, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. She still ached, but it was some far-away part of her. Right now, the living, breathing girl was more important than the burnt mockingjay, and it hadn't been that way in months.

He smiled against her lips, murmuring, "Good."

Which hadn't been a word he'd been able to use to describe anything related to either of them in -- god, forever. The contrast between this and everything that had happened lately was almost enough to make him giddy.

"Do you -- er. Shall we, er." He blushed. "Continue?"

She had just gone to the trouble of getting up on his lap, after all.

Edited 2011-10-20 05:30 (UTC)

She had to stifle a laugh -- another thing that hadn't seemed possible or likely for months -- and pressed a little closer to answer with another kiss. She was mindful to keep her weight largely off of him, as she might be distracted, but she hadn't just forgotten he was hurt.

It was the first time she'd actually wanted to be touched in months. She felt like if they stopped, she'd just go on tingling for the rest of the night in anticipation that it'd happen again.

Wesley could hardly believe that he'd gone so long without touching her for fear of spooking her somehow. This was so comfortable now that the prospect of deliberately avoiding it was unthinkable.

He ran his hands through her hair, relishing the opportunity to just touch.

And for once, Katniss understood a reason to keep her hair down rather than braid it. Everything about her normally was so functional. This was -- she was starting to understand how to exist beyond sheer, basic function.

She pressed a little closer, careful not to hurt him again, so her chest would be flush with his. Their hands were crushed between them, yes, but it was more of him than she'd ever felt against her in a long, long time.

She was starting to understand a lot of things, all of a sudden.

Oh! And that was... her chest. Pressing against his. Wesley let out a quick gasp against her mouth, cheeks tinging a faint pink.

Sorry, Katniss. Gentleman or not, Wesley was not accustomed to... well, that.

"...hello."

What else does one say when that happens? Part of her (a part that she hadn't even really been aware of, save for a few occasions) ached to move closer, to tug his shirt over her head and get him out of his clothes, and she didn't even know what she was doing, but how could just being so close feel like that and and and --

She inched back a fraction, glancing at him questioningly before blurting out, in a hurried breath, "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Oh, thank god.

"Nor I," Wes breathed quickly, relieved. Before he could think about possibly not blurting out stupid things, he added, "But I--"

Only then did it occur to him that it was a stupid thing to say, but he finished anyway, "I -- that is to say, I don't, er. Necessarily... mind it."

At all. As Katniss might be aware of, what with the lap situation.

"Me neither?" she said, and yes, she had sort of...noticed that, but as much as Katniss had been biologically educated, she really didn't know what to do. She'd barely gotten as far as 'kissing is fun and we should do it more often.'

"I'm...it's very new. I've, um, never...I mean, you know. When would I have found time to do this with anyone before you?" she said, laughing softly as she leaned her forehead against his.

"Right, of course," he conceded with an awkward little smile of his own. Whereas he'd kissed Cordelia twice and both times had been abysmal, but it didn't seem like good manners to mention that, especially since it'd never reached anywhere near this point. "It's -- well, not exactly something I was trained in," he laughed softly.

"Not part of Watcher training?" she asked, smiling softly. "I'm so surprised."

And cracking jokes! Would wonders never cease.

"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it's never come up before," he admitted softly with a smile, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing gently. "It doesn't seem like a terribly common issue."

With a bunch of old repressed Watchers? No, probably not.

"But -- this is fine?" he checked again. "I'm not doing anything wrong, or...?"

"No, no," she said quickly, eyes going a little wide. "No, Wesley, you're -- this is perfect. I'm just...new. I'm not hurting you again, or...doing anything you don't like?"

She had no idea.

"No, this is... it's wonderful, actually," he admitted, almost shyly. Even though he felt guilty about it immediately afterward, for a moment he was grateful that Katniss was as light as she was, because this probably wouldn't be manageable otherwise.

He searched for a moment for something to say, then settled on, "You -- I -- your hair smells nice."

Oh, Wes.

"Thank you?" she said, hiding a smile (poorly.) "I hadn't really worked on it, but thank you."

A little shyly, she added, "I might start wearing it down more."

"I do like how it looks down," he offered. "Or -- in the braid. Either. It's, ah. Nice. In general."

He could stop at any time. Really.

"Are we really talking about my hair?" Katniss asked, and now she couldn't hide her laughter. Giggles, really. She wasn't laughing at him, but at both of them. "Is this what s -- what this reduces people to? Talking about hair? No wonder Finnick was able to keep so many lovers without putting forth much effort," she teased lightly. "We're ridiculous."

Wesley was going to be a gentleman and not notice that slip there, Katniss. You're welcome.

"I suppose so," he admitted with a smile, though that didn't stop him from reaching his unoccupied hand to run through one of the soft waves. In a teasing tone, he offered mock-charitably, "What would you like to talk about, Katniss?"

She smiled, recognizing that teasing for what it was. Katniss leaned back a little to survey him. "You. How are you feeling? And who is this girl, and what are your objections to my finding her with an arrow?"

Oh, of course she'd pick the lamest topic ever. Figured.

"I'm all right," he promised. "Really, I... couldn't imagine a better welcome-back." Despite feeling a bit awkward about it, he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, then added, "Unfortunately, although I wouldn't object, I think the security at the prison might have some objections."

See? No need to be concerned! Faith was in jail and it was all better! Well, you know, for a few more seasons.

"She's in jail?" she asked, eyes wide with interest. "For what she did to you?"

...he'd really liked the kissing part better.

"Actually, for other things," he admitted. "She's actually got a fairly substantial criminal record, by this point. Some murders. Assaults. She -- well, she actually turned herself in this evening, after... everything. So I suspect she'll be there a while."

Or else he would have Things To Say to the LAPD, that was for sure.

"Did she turn herself in because she was upset at what she'd done to you?" Katniss asked, narrowing her eyes a little. And yes, she'd liked the kissing better, which was why she wasn't being entirely cold during this line of questioning. Her hand was tracing along a wound on his chest, fingertips light as she checked for damage while...well, just touching him. She'd missed it.

"That's the working theory," he replied, still running his hands through her hair. (Admittedly, he was maybe prioritizing badly when it came to this whole freedom-to-touch thing. Her hair was hardly his top choice for just... touching. But it was a start.)

"She was, er. Working on me. And Angel, my colleague, came in, and they fought -- actually, at one point they flew out a window -- and by the time I got down there, she was crying and he was holding her."

That didn't actually thrill him, for the record.

"Working on you?" she repeated, because she hadn't quite understood his injuries' origin until just then. "She was -- oh, Wesley."

And cue a much softer kiss, her hands flying up to gently cup his face. She didn't know what else to do. She'd never been tortured. Peeta would be more useful than her in a conversation, yet again.

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